Today, a genderqueer, cisblind friend of mine (let’s call
them Kelly) posted the below article
from The Braille Monitor to their
timeline. I read it, and realized that as a transabled person, I was instantly
triggered by it, though I could also see how the article validated Kelly’s perspective.
We had a lengthy conversation, in which we openly and honestly shared our
views. Our conversation inspired me to write the following commentary. My
thoughts are in brackets. Before we proceed, it’s important that I briefly
explain some vocabulary.
Transabled or transblind (alternatively, abilityqueer): A
term that typically refers to people without disabilities who feel that they
need them (e.g. a sighted person who feels like she needs to be blind), but
which I also use to refer to myself (a congenitally blind person with limited
light perception who identifies as sighted). Transability is not the same as
internalized ableism, because my identification with sightedness stems from
factors that are unrelated to ableism. I have persistently felt sighted from a
very early age, before I was exposed to the detrimental effects of ableism. My transability is as integral to my identity
as Kelly's non-binary gender identity in a
binarist world. when it comes to transness, identity runs deeper than
social conditioning.
Cisdisabled or
cisblind: A blind person who identifies as a blind person. Analogous to
cisgender.
Now, on with the commentary.
Article quote:
Do Blind People Dream in Color?
by Erin Jepsen
From the Editor: Sometimes I find myself complaining about
the blurring I perceive between opinion and news, about the tendency to elevate
the reporter above the events he reports, and about how easily we accept one
side of a story without demanding the other side and then some considered
discussion of the conflicting points of view. When we carry an investigative
piece, the Monitor tries to talk with those who are complaining and those who
are the target of the complaints. We certainly do weigh in with our synthesis
of what we have been told and have observed, but we also hope to give readers
enough information to draw their own conclusions about what has been reported.
What follows is not an investigative piece. It is clearly a
strongly held opinion, one that may cause those of us who consider ourselves
progressive in the way we think about blindness to question whether we
appreciate all that our senses can tell us or whether we simply appreciate
having them, poor substitutes though they may be, for the sense of sight.
Raella commentary:
[Here’s the first
sign that I identify with the sighted perspective. After reading this
paragraph, I felt instantly ashamed for my seeming inability to “appreciate
what my senses have to tell me.” I know on some level, I can push myself to get
more out of my other senses (to concentrate on what I do perceive, rather than
what I don’t), but this takes a great deal of effort and is not automatic, the
way it seems to be for some other blind people. This lack of automaticity
affects almost every domain of my life. When teaching, for example, it rarely
occurs to me to use auditory cues, such as having students say “yes” instead of
raising their hands to indicate that they have completed a task. I can learn to
use these techniques, but I often need to be reminded of their existence, as if
I were someone who had recently lost her sight, rather than someone who has
never had it].
Here is a perspective from the mother of a blind child, a
mother who has some sight but considers herself blind and thinks there is much
to appreciate in being so:
Raella commentary:
[Again, the
disconcerting shame because of my
lack of appreciation for blindness.]
Article quote:
Have you ever been asked, “Do blind people dream in color?” I’d
like to answer that question, but not in the way you might think. I’d like to
say that blind people need to dream more in color, not literally, but
metaphorically. Let me explain if I may.
Raella commentary:
[Why must we limit
our understanding of color to metaphor? I strongly believe that because colors
are basically just vibrations, blind people, if they so wish, can understand
them literally, as well as metaphorically.]
Article quote:
A chronic condition exists in our world that desperately
needs changing. We have chipped away at it, but still it lurks in our culture,
in books, in movies, in conversations, and in unnecessarily limited
expectations. We’ll call it “sightism” for lack of a better term, and, quickly
defined, it’s the belief that being sighted is fundamentally better than being
blind.
Raella commentary:
[Do I feel that being
sighted is better than being blind? It’s a complicated question. I guess my
best answer is in general, I don’t think one state of being is “better” than
the other, but because I experience intense dysphoria as a blind person, being
sighted would be “better” for me. Which leaves me wondering: am I a blind
person who is sightist? Am I contributing to oppression? My friend Kelly is
quick to reassure me that I am not an oppressor, because I’m not reaping the
benefits of sighted privilege, but am I? After all, my way of thinking about
the importance of visual culture is in alignment with the dominant paradigm. I
feel privileged and marginalized at the same time]
Historically, the “medical model of blindness,” as it’s
called in academia, is partly to blame. The thinking goes like this: Diseases,
illness, or accidents cause blindness, so it is obviously to be combated and
cured by the medical community and by research. Eye doctors spend years of
study and millions of dollars to learn how to restore sight. Blindness is not
an ideal part of the human condition, so its reversal is better than its
acceptance. Historical literature paints the blind man as a second-class
citizen, unable to support a family, unable to function independently, and
devoid of power in any sort of social sense. The Bible also has several
examples of Christ restoring sight, which carries with it the assumption that
the lives of those so touched will be vastly improved.
Raella commentary:
[I definitely don’t
agree with the medical model of blindness, and am conflicted over the vast
amount of money researchers are spending on finding cures for various eye
conditions. On the one hand, I am selfishly grateful. I want a cure (though I
prefer to call it a transition to sightedness). On the other hand, I realize
that the majority of congenitally blind people (and a lot of adventitiously
blind people as well) do not want such a cure. I think this kind of research is
acceptable, as long as researchers are very careful not to assume that every
blind person wants to benefit from it.]
In modern culture we, the politically correct enlightened
few, assume we’ve evolved beyond this demeaning form of oppression. Here’s how
our modern thinking tends to run: Of course a blind man can work! He’ll simply
use his iPhone as a sort of replacement sight and go on with his business.
Technology today has advanced so far that we’ll soon have self-driving cars and
artificial retinas. Stem cells will likely re-grow entire eyes if put into the
right petri dish.
Yes, I’m being facetious, but I wonder if you can spot my
point? Replacement eyes. New eyeballs that work. Sight, sight, sight.
Valuable—you bet. The end all and be all of human existence—I don’t buy it.
Raella commentary:
[Another sign that
I’m reading this article as a sighted person: instead of getting annoyed by
this proliferation of sight-replacing or sight-restoring technologies, I get
excited by it. Clearly, the author feels that this emphasis on sight-restoring
technologies will further support society’s marginalization of blindness and
its obsession with the visual. But does this have to be the case? Can’t blind
people fight for their rights, and demonstrate that their perspective is
valuable, while at the same time, technologies are created for the blind people
who wish to transition into sightedness, or to live as sighted part of the
time? ? Maybe I’m naïve and idealistic, but I don’t think it is an either/or. When
created and used responsibly, technology is all about giving people options.]
I’ve been told that humans use up to 70 percent of their
brains to interpret visual images. (Some literature alleges that 90 percent of
learning comes through vision.) I was told this during a vision screening in
which my own visual condition was cross-examined. My brain apparently processes
visual images incorrectly. It brought into focus for me (sorry about the pun)
the trouble the sighted world has with the idea that someone could function
normally without that 70 percent of visual input and still have a rich sensory
environment. I get it. Simple mathematics dictates that a blind person uses
only the 30 percent that remains, right? Well, we all know that isn’t true. The
brain is more flexible than that, and, while I don’t buy into the delightful
myth of superhuman hearing, a la Daredevil, I do know that the brain
appropriates visual processing centers in order to interpret shapes read by the
fingers as well as aural input. Echolocation is one example.
Raella commentary:
[Though I of course don’t believe that blind people only use
30% of their brains, I can say that as a transabled person, I am keenly aware
of the gaps in my sensory perceptions. I of course have no evidence to back
this up, but I suspect that the neural restructuring that happens in most blind
people’s brains didn’t happen to the same extent for me. I am more interested
in color theory than I am in sculpture or music or anything else that is
tactile or auditory. I am definitely good at some tasks that sighted people
aren’t (listening to synthesized speech at high speeds, for example.) But it
seems like the author is making an assumption that all blind people have a rich
and complete sensory experience, and I don’t know if that is the case. I wonder
if other blind people can relate to my awareness of having a gap in
perception.]
Still, people have a hard time believing that this is
adequate. Even the blind community has a pervasive attitude of sightism running
through it. Stick with me here. We’ve been told our whole lives that, while blindness
is okay, sight is better, right? The sighted parents receive news that their
child will be blind for life, and how do they react? They weep. The child hears
them weeping and begins to form an image of her own unfortunate circumstances.
This carries through to the undereducated (through no fault of her own) blind
adult who cannot hold a job because she has never been expected to ride public
transit by herself, the man who never learns to get along with his co-workers
without demanding special treatment, and the woman who is incapable of working
current technology because her school provided her with technology from 1965.
In writing this I’m not shaming us, but I’m pointing out some simple facts. We
all know these blind people. We are them.
Raella commentary:
[In my case, I had
access to the right technology, and the right education. I had several strong
blind adult role models. My mother quickly got over her grief and focused on helping
me to become the most successful blind person possible. My father researched
sight restoration for me, but I think only because I had expressed an interest
in it myself. Clearly, education and familial attitudes are not the only
factors that influence whether we identify or disidentify with blindness. I
think there is a pronounced difference between the examples Jepsen describes,
of blind people who were taught to believe that they couldn’t lead successful
lives, and transblind people, who, for whatever reason, are wired for sight.]
I have low vision. I’ve been denied jobs because the potential
employer had known an incompetent blind person and assumed I was also
incompetent. There is room for change.
Raella commentary:
[Yes, I agree.]
Family, acquaintances, and strangers weekly tell me things I
should believe about myself and my daughter, who is blind. When she confidently
runs around at church during music practice, I invariably have someone tell me
that she can surely see better than we think she can. (Uhm, prosthetic eye,
anyone?) The underlying assumption that confident movement can be achieved only
with sight is unquestioned. When I refute it, amazement and the dreaded word
“inspiration” often follows. When she had surgery on her eyes, people asked me
if she could then see better. They ask me if they might pray that her sight
would be improved. I won’t go into my observations about our faith in the
medical system as contrasted with our faith in the Divine. While I do believe
in Divine healing, I believe more in Divine guidance, and sometimes we really
do walk by faith and not sight. Did you hear me? Not sight. As in, that’s okay.
Raella commentary:
[I read this, and
part of me is envious of Jepsen’s daughter’s confidence. I have blind friends
that are amazing travelers, and to be honest, I think I’m in as much awe of
them as sighted people are, though I definitely would never ever use the I word
to describe them. Ick. Also, this paragraph is another example of Jepsen’s
chastising and somewhat condescending tone. Kelly said that they doesn’t think Jepsen
is saying that blindness is better than sight; she’s merely pointing out
sighted culture’s extreme tendency to undervalue blind people’s ways of doing
things. If Jepsen is taking an extreme position, Kelly says, it’s only because
sighted people take an equally extreme position with regards to blindness. But
as a deconstructionist, I’m always on the lookout for dichotomies, and I think Jepsen
is unintentionally creating one here. In his article Queer as a Verb , Charlie Glickman invites us to view dichotomies as tensions between
sameness and difference, rather than opposing forces. I think that’s what Jepsen
is trying to do here, but it isn’t really working for me, because I keep
scenting blind superiority.]
The civil rights movement in our country focused our
attention on race. It showed us that people with black skin could be employed
if they were allowed to be educated. It showed us that black people were not
content to sit at the back of the bus or to be treated as second-class
citizens. It showed us that the rusty old “colored” drinking fountain next to
the refrigerated “white” drinking fountain would no longer do and that
shoehorning black adults into menial labor jobs was no longer acceptable. As a
country we discovered that people of color were equal in every way to white
people. It took time for this idea to sink in. It took a lot of work. But, for
a lot of us, it has finally penetrated our skulls, and, equally important, it
has made its way into our hearts—both are required for real awareness and
understanding that people are equal, no matter their race.
Now let’s talk about disability. I’m tired of sitting at the
back of the bus too. I’m tired of people weeping over blindness. I’m tired of
literature equating blindness with death, with sin, with darkness and fear, and
with ineptitude. I’m tired of being seen as superhuman or subhuman, and, never
oh never, just human. I’m tired of viral videos showing a six-year-old boy
stepping off a curb for the very first time with his white cane as if that is a
good thing. It’s not a good thing. Eighteen-month-old babies step off curbs for
the first time, not six-year-old children. I’m tired of reading about 70
percent unemployment rates for blind adults. I’m tired of Braille charities
that “bring light to those in darkness.” Well, excuse me, I’m not in darkness.
My visual condition happens to have a little too much light as a matter of
fact. I’m tired of raising money to fight against my blindness. I don’t raise
money to fight against my brown hair, my five-foot-ten height, or my Caucasian
skin. If I raised money to fight my daughter’s African skin, I’d be accused of
racism, and my accusers would be right. I don’t need to fight against who I am,
and, more than that, fighting against the way I perceive the world robs the
world of my own perception and of my own voice and message.
Raella commentary:
[I agree. However,
whenever I am mistreated because of my blindness, my tendency is to take it
personally, rather than to view the sighted person as ableist. It’s not that I
think ableism doesn’t exist. It’s more that my identification with sightedness
is so tangible, my expectation that I should be read as sighted so pronounced,
that I blame myself. Of course, this way of viewing the situation seems
illogical and potentially damaging, which drives home to me that my
transability is not something over which I have complete control. When I
expressed frustration to Kelly that I was not able to identify with Jepsen’s
description of ableism, they said reassuringly, “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re
sighted.”
In addition, I think
the discourse around “curing” blindness needs to change. Phrases like “fighting
blindness” and “suffering from blindness,” though they generate pathos and loosen
purse strings, should be excised, because they imply that blindness is inferior
to sight. We need to find other ways of talking about blindness research that
are not oppressive, while still recognizing that some people may want to
transition out of blindness. Another friend with a disability, Valéria M. Souza, ., helped me come to the
conclusion that the tools to “cure” blindness are not in it of themselves
dangerous; it is the way that the medical establishment wields them that is
oppressive.]
The medical model of blindness is fine as far as it goes.
The social model steps a bit further and insists that blindness, when
incurable, can become a normal condition of existence and should be accepted as
such. Well, that’s all nice, but do I merely accept my daughter’s African skin?
By no means! I embrace her beauty. I tell my bi-racial son that his brown skin
is gorgeous, which it is. I tell them that their beautiful hair is so much fun.
I tell my white children the same. I adore my multi-colored family, and my
adoration opens the door for those around me to adore them too.
I draw attention to race only to illustrate a parallel
between accepting differences in race and accepting differences in sensory
ability. Just as rejecting racism ultimately relies on appreciating one
another’s differences, rejecting sightism goes far, far beyond simple
acceptance. Merely existing in spite of our blindness isn’t good enough.
Secretly wishing we could see won’t cut it. There is a point beyond simply
living with our blindness--actually enjoying it. There is a point where we
realize that we have a unique perception of the world that sighted people don’t
have. This perception adds richness to the tapestry of human existence.
Raella commentary:
[Again, Jepsen seems
to be conflating her views with that of all blind people. Not everyone is
capable (or desires to) embrace their blindness. By not acknowledging this
fact, Jepsen is engaging in (or at least supporting) identity-policing. She is implying
that if a blind person refuses to embrace blindness, he or she is contributing
to sightism. Philosopher Jose Medina writes that proponents of second-wave feminism defined themselves in
opposition to men and valorized “women’s ways” of doing things. I wonder if
that is what is going on here; is the disability rights movement undergoing an
analogous stage?] I see much potential in writers such as Robert McRure and Eli
Claire, whose work is at the intersection of disability and queer studies,
though to my knowledge, no one has yet postulated that abilityqueerness is
separate from ableism and is a valid identity category.]
My daughter who is blind has a rich perception that is
unique to her and is in no way less than that of her sister who is fully
sighted. If I go around telling my blind daughter everything I see and
describing the world to her so that her poor pitiful dark world will be just a
bit fuller, then I am sending her the subtle message that the things she
notices are less meaningful than the things I can (sort of) see. People who
tell me I am blessed because of the limited sight I have discount the wonderful
things I possess as part of my blind self. I want to tell them that the unique
way that I have always perceived the world is important, even if it is
different from the way they perceive it!
Raella commentary:
[But the question is:
does Jepsens’s daughter want to hear about the visual world? If she does, then
her mother’s description of what she sees will contribute to the richness of
her perception, rather than diminish it. Again, I think it is possible to do
both: give the blind child an opportunity to engage with visuality, while encouraging
and supporting her nonvisual perceptions. As the child grows older, she will be
able to make her own decision regarding her relationship with the visual, but
that decision can only be made if she has access to information from visual and
nonvisual channels.]
Remember the scene in Dead Poets Society where the teacher
stands on his desk to the consternation of his strait-laced, rule-following
prep-school pupils? He is trying to get them to see the world in a new way, a
different way. He is trying to broaden them. At the end of the movie, the
tearjerker scene involves a student standing on his desk, as if to say, “I
learned what you were trying to teach. I get it. I’ve changed.”
Guess what? We blind folks were born standing on our
desks--or that illness or accident forced us up there. We see the world in a
different way. That’s not a bad thing; it’s a wonderful thing. It’s a
broadening thing. The world needs us: not to give them inspiration, not by
stepping off curbs, but by being ourselves. By experiencing the world in the
way that we experience it, by looking at things from a different angle, we
enrich the world.
Raella commentary:
[I’m standing on a
desk, too! Except instead of teaching sighted people about how I perceive the
world differently, I’m declaring my unbounded curiosity about sight. I’m
focusing on my similarities to sighted people, rather than my differences, and
I think that is just as important and just as subversive as what Jepsen is
doing. I’m queering the boundary between blindness and sightedness, not out of
a desire to conform, but out of a desire to live my own truth. The poet Hune Margulies writes,
“is the bridge/there to embrace together two shores,/or are the shores/
there/to embrace both ends of the bridge?]
there/to embrace both ends of the bridge?]
Article quote:
I read an article which said that architecture designed with
a blind user in mind ends up being more functional for the general population.
In the same way that embracing the beauty of all colors of the races and all of
the variety found in the world’s many cultural traditions makes us stronger, so
too does embracing our diverse abilities. These must be seen as valid ways of
perceiving or navigating the world so that they can bring a richness of
experience, a diversity of thought and problem-solving that cannot happen when
vision is considered to be the most important of our five senses. We close
doors leading to significant human experience when only mobility using two feet
is considered, when only hearing is considered, when only neuro-typical ideas
are deemed valid.
Raella commentary:
[I consider my transability to be a form of neuroqueerness.]
This shift in thinking about blindness has to come from the
blind community first. For the sighted world to see us as competent, we need to
begin seeing ourselves as possessing a truly valid perceptual experience. We
need to question the sightism that goes on around us constantly. We need to sit
in at the sightist lunch counters and insist that we belong there. We need to
appreciate the blind artists who showcase the beauty of our perception to the
unaware sighted world. We need to insist that blind actors play blind roles in
Hollywood and discontinue the shameful but Oscar-winning blind-face practice
that goes on there. We need to keep on working for equal access to education
and transportation. We need to push back gently against teachers of the blind
who teach reliance on poor sight over learning essential blindness skills.
Raella commentary:
[Note Jepsen’s use of
“wee.” Though I agree with many of the causes Jepsen says we must fight for, my
dichotomy alarm is still going off. Jepsen is using words like “blind
community” and “sighted world,” which, to me, perpetuates an us-versus-them
mentality. Kelly says that blind people are not to blame for this
dichotomizing, that sighted people are responsible for creating it. Regardless
of who is responsible, I worry that if we continue to use this kind of
language, we are feeding the dichotomy rather than disrupting it.]
I’m not discounting the frightening experience of sight
loss. Any change like that is bound to be unsettling; I’ve gone through it
myself. I’ve gone through the identity shift that rocked the very core of my
existence when the person I thought I was is the person I no longer am. I’ve
been there. I have. It’s okay. Stepping up onto that desk is scary at first.
After a while, though, you find your balance and look around, acknowledging
that what you observe is still reality, but reality from a different point of
view.
Raella commentary:
[But sometimes, this
doesn’t happen for me. Sometimes, I stand up on that desk, and I’m twisted
between the me that is blind and the me that drives all her friends around and
practices her calligraphy. Though only the former exists on a physical plane,
the potentiality of the other me is just as real.]
Article quote:
Because of the Civil Rights movement, I can adopt and raise
black kids to have a wonderful future and embrace them for the color and race
they are. I hope that in twenty years my partially sighted and blind children
can have as bright a future and be embraced in their families and workplaces
for the valuable contributions they make and not merely accepted or
accommodated. Like the inimitable Dr. King, I have a dream: just as racism is
dying, that sightism and ableism will die the same death, that the medical model
will no longer be used as an excuse to discriminate and push us to assume
second-class citizenship. I dream that our blind kids will join the ranks of
tomorrow’s chemists and doctors and actors and engineers, as well as
bricklayers and fast-food workers. I dream that we will never again hear
stories of blind parents having children removed by Children’s Protective
Services because they are both blind. I dream that inclusive architecture will
be standard because the people who directly benefit from that architecture are
valuable enough to be worth it. I dream that our children won’t have to spend
their energy fighting for equal access to science laboratories but instead can
spend their time and energy researching. I have a dream that all Braille
teachers not only will read Braille well, but will tell children that learning
Braille is as easy as sighted kids learning to read those squiggles and lines
they call print. I dream that blind athletes will continue to strive for world
records. Not only do I dream for the newsmakers,
but I want to see a world in which blind people who want to live quiet,
peaceful, non-record-breaking lives without being interrupted by a constant
stream of acquaintances calling them inspirational will be free to do so. Let’s
dream together, shall we? And then we’ll tell the world of our beautiful,
colorful dreams.
Raella commentary: